


It's Cold in the Desert Heat

by roguebowtie



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Needs a Hug, Clint got left in the cold, Gen, Phil and Clint have a Cellist, Phil's broken nose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:35:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguebowtie/pseuds/roguebowtie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SHIELD fell, Clint had fallen off the grid, and it was so very cold out here in the desert heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Cold in the Desert Heat

Knowing which way was up was the most difficult thing in the world. Breathing slow and steady when the world crashed down, when everything once known became older and more terrifying.  Safety became treacherous.

Home became Enemy.

Clint breathed quiet as he could, despite the pain flaring from his thigh - wrapped tight in the shirt of a dead man.  He'd been sent out without an extraction plan, as per usual - something he'd been doing since before the Avengers.  Once upon a time, it'd been Coulson who he'd been able to count on if he got in too far over his head.  Now it was his fellow Avengers, or at least Nat and Steve... except they were impossible to reach.

He'd fallen off the grid, and it was so very cold out here in the desert heat.

A few days ago, when he was fighting off delirium in the shed behind a shack of a house, hidden under a work bench and behind old tools - he'd overheard a radio broadcast.  It wasn't in English, but it was in a language he spoke - and it spoke of SHIELD, and Helicarriers destroying each other over DC.

When the fever broke enough that he could think clearly, Clint knew that any call for help would be met with static.  He'd tried Tony first - the man'd given everyone a number to call in case they needed help - but there was no answer, just a polite English voice saying that Mr. Stark would be unavailable in the forseeable future.

He still couldn't get through to Nat or Steve.  Fury's number was disconnected.  Sitwell's voicemail was full.

Clint had no one to call for help.  The first time in _years_ he wanted to call for help - and there was no one.

"Figures," he muttered under his breath, sneaking out in the chill dead of night, sneaking away and trying to find some way to get to safety.  Earlier, he'd set a distress signal over the Radio - over an old channel not used by SHIELD in over a decade, in hopes of help.  That lasted all of an hour before he realised that it probably wouldn't help.

Wasn't the first time he was in the cold with no help.

Was the first time since he'd joined SHIELD, though.  Hell, even when he was playing intelligent meat puppet, he had some kind of backup he could call if he ended up in a predicament he couldn't get out of.  He'd been valuable, after a fact - and god, the heat or the despair must be getting to him if he was fantasizing about when he'd been brain-bent into working for a god throwing an epic tantrum.

He found a low stand of bushes, trees... It was hard to tell the difference.  He just needed a little more rest before he could hijack a vehicle and find safety.

*

One moment Clint'd closed his eyes for a short nap.  The next, he was hearing the soft beep of medical machinery, felt the cold metallic aftertaste at the back of his throat from having an IV.  He winced at the bright before squinting, peering through his lashes and assessing his location.

"There we are," a woman said. _English, Female_ , his mind provided.  "I was beginning to worry you wouldn't wake, Agent Barton.  So good of you to join us."

Clint swallowed hard and accepted the ice-chip pressed to his mouth, as the voice continued, his own eyes closing.  "You suffered a great deal of bloodloss, and it's not surprising considering your wound.  I don't suppose you'd realised you were infected when you tied it down?  No matter, antibiotics are your friend.  Welcome to the playground, you'll need to be debriefed and questioned in the polygraph chair once you've the strength to sit up, and be awake for more than a few..."

*

"Where?"

"Hello, Agent Barton. So good of you to wake up.  As I was saying yesterday-"

"Where."  It seemed to be about all he could manage.

"Ah, yes. You're in the medical facility in the Playground.  It's a secret base," the woman sounded pleased.  "You're safe and on the mend.  I don't suppose you recall our previous conver-"

*

"You're very good at falling asleep, aren't you?"

"So they say, nurse...?"

"You can call me Jemma," she said warmly, a soft cool hand checking his IV and flashing a light in his eyes, causing Clint to wince back and jerk away.  "I must say, it is a pleasure to meet you, Agent Barton."

"Who do you work for?"  The pause made Clint uneasy.  "Who do you work for, Nurse Jemma?"

"It's Doctor, actually," she said primly, patting his hand.  "I work for the good guys."

"If you're one of the good guys, _Doctor_ ," Clint said overly-sweet.  "Then why am I tied down?"

"I was warned that you can be violent upon waking if you regain consciousness suddenly."

"By whom."

"I'm sorry?"

"Who warned you?"

"Director Coulson."

Clint was sure he'd lost his mind as unconsciousness dragged him under once more.  
  
*

"Clinton Francis Barton, dead parents, one brother - don't know where he's at, might be dead, too.  You can eat one, the other you can skip across the water. My bow.  Who?  No, should I have? What the futz, HYDRA?!  Didn't Cap get rid of 'em a lifetime ago?  Hell no!  I'm SHIELD, buddy - and if you think I'm going to join up with a bunch of no good self-important assholes-  Oh, cool, thanks, man."

*

"You broke my nose!"

"Yes I did."

"AGAIN!"

"Yes I did. You didn't even apologise!"

"It was in everyone's best intere-"

"Don't you DARE everyone's best interest me.  Does Audrey know?"

"No.  She doesn't.  I saw her recently, though - she looks well."

"She looks-" Clint laughed harshly.  "She was as much of a mess as I was - we almost lost everything when we lost you, don't you get that?"

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, there it is.  Finally."

"Clint-"

"Don't you 'Clint-' me.  Do you have ANY idea how much... how much guilt and heartbreak and... we were just piecing ourselves back together, and-"  He put a hand over his face, hiding his tears.  "You know we'd keep it a secret."

"I know, but... it'd been a while - I thought you'd moved on to be, you know, traditional."

"We didn't.  Please.  You have to tell her.  Don't make me do this, don't you DARE make me lie to our Treasure."

Phil sighed, still holding his handkerchief to his bloody nose, trying not to wince at the pressure.  "When there's a moment to breathe."

"No, we're setting up a Skype call right now, Phil.  Don't tear our family apart when there's still a chance to put it back together."

..."Alright."

*

"You _were_ there. Weren't you?"

"Yes.  I'm sorry, Audrey."

"...You look awful, did Clint break your nose?"

"Yep!" Clint said proudly.

"Clint, you know better than that," she said with a smile through her tears.

"I deserved it," Phil admitted.  "It'll heal."

"Well, your nose always did have some character."

"Hey, what about me?"

"You _are_ a character, Clint - we wouldn't have you any other way."

"Thank you."

"When can I see you both again?" she asked, hopeful.

"As soon as we can."

"As soon as I steal a jet."

"Clint Barton!" it was a unison that was music to his ears

"You guys love me."

"Yes we do," they both replied at once.

Feeling a missing piece settle into place, Clint smiled.  "I love you guys too.  We'll see you soon."

"I'll keep you to that. I've got to get to practice.  Thank you so much for calling, Phil. Clint.  Take care of each other and come home to me."

"Will do."

*

The night was as dark as any on the base, soft lights along the baseboards to avoid tripping.  Clint gladly wrapped his arms around Phil, holding him tight against his chest, hanging on in a way that hopefully would make this be real and not some sort of fever dream.

"I'm here," Phil promised.  "I really am here, Clint, and I kind of need my lungs to breathe."

Clint let go slightly, "Sorry."

"It's okay.  I missed you, too."

The night was soft, muted around the edges, breathing slowing down toward sleep.

"Holy crap, you're the Director, now!"

"Go to sleep, Clint."

"We need to sneak Audrey into an office."

"Sleeping involves not talking."

"Yes sir, Director Coulson, Sir!"

"Goodnight, Clint."

The archer sniggered.  "G'nite Director."

 

**Author's Note:**

> My computer's busted again and I needed to write something. Unbeta'd and written in one sitting, about two hours after I should have zonked, while drinking mead. Also because I'm having a lot of feels re: Clint post Cap2 right now.


End file.
